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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28146804">Old Ghosts</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/NerdyPuddinCup/pseuds/NerdyPuddinCup'>NerdyPuddinCup</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera &amp; Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>London, Persia, Persian Empire, Victorian</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 16:28:08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,449</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28146804</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/NerdyPuddinCup/pseuds/NerdyPuddinCup</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After the conclusion of their drama. Those involved with the events of the Phantom of the Opera are left scattered. Christine and her betrothed Raoul have left for Sweden, Nadir Khan remains in France, and the elusive Erik had trekked to the city of London to hide away for the rest of his days. </p><p>However, old ghosts rear their ugly heads as the sins of his past come for him. What will this mean for the man once known as the Opera Ghost? Will he survive? Will he truly find the peace and love that he has longed for?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Nadir Khan frowned as he watched the Viscount and his betrothed pull away in their carriage. They were free from this nightmare, a nightmare that he knew he could have prevented. With a shake of his head he turned on his heel and headed for his home. His mind was conflicted. He had betrayed his friend, but Erik had left him no choice. Kidnapping, murder, extortion. It was all too much for the Persian to deal with. Oh how he had tried to ignore it. But he had learned long ago that the Living Corpse was not a man that was easily ignored.</p><p>The walk seemed to take longer than usual. His feet feeling quite heavy as he moved. When last he saw his friend, he was on the ground crying like a child on the ground. He clutched at his slender frame and rocked himself slightly. The kiss, the act of kindness that his Angel bestowed upon him would be the end of him. Nadir was quite certain of that. The lesson had been learned, and the Opera House would never again be bothered by the Ghost. The Managers could breathe a sigh of relief, the haunt was over once and for all. At least again this is what Nadir kept telling himself. </p><p>Once he was home, he had a servant under his employ take his cloak and then made his way to his room to disrobe and hopefully relax. Sleep would not come easy for the man so early in the morning. He knew that, but hopefully with a little hashish would help put him at ease. Thankfully it did. As his eyes fluttered his mind went to thoughts of back in Persia. Back when he was happy, back when his boy was still alive. Before the Ghost came into his life. </p><p>A few weeks later, Nadir was about to relax in his sitting room when he felt something pointed at the back of his neck. It was almost unnoticeable but it was there. His head turned to see that there was a woman behind him with some sort of blade to him. She was beautiful, Persian like he. Despite the youthful features, her eyes showed a lifetime of carnage and death. It was similar to the look Erik had in his eye when Nadir had first met him all those years ago. It made his blood run cold. They stood there silent for a moment before a small smirk crossed the woman’s lips. When she finally spoke, the feeling of dread was only compounded. </p><p>“Hello father.” </p><p>Her voice was like honey with just a hint of poison. He had hoped that his mind was playing tricks on him when he thought he recognized her. But it was her, the daughter he had forsaken when she was so young to the Sultana. She joining the deadly Harem in which she ruled. “Shirin.” Nadir said, his throat utterly dry. At the drop of her name, her arm dropped as she motioned for him to have a seat. Nadir was old now, but even in his youth there would be little he could do about this deadly flower. So, he did not put up a fight and took a seat just as she requested. </p><p>“You are a long way from home.” Nadir said, trying to not show the fear that was shaking him to his core. This made his daughter chuckle. </p><p>“I would not be here if not for you father. I could still be home, at the palace enjoying all that life has to offer. But, the Shah is quite upset.” </p><p>“Is he ever not?” Nadir responded which quickly earned him a strike against his cheek. He grunted and blinked his eyes. </p><p>“I’m not here for pleasantries. You are here because you are disgraced. Unfit and unwelcome in Persia. You were lucky that you were not killed when you failed to bring skeleton man back alive. But, with recent events it seems that you won’t be this lucky this time.” </p><p>“What are you talking about?” Another swift slap. </p><p>“Stop playing dumb.” Shirin said so utterly conversational. She had all the power here and it was obvious. “This Opera Ghost. From all accounts, it sounds an awful lot like the Trap Door Maker. The one you failed to bring back alive. It seems you did not bring him back at all. My Lady has never forgotten her favorite crafter of toys.” Nadir shifted in his chair, his cheek was stinging and he was quickly losing his composure. “I’ve been down there, to the dungeon of the Living Corpse’s mind. I saw a room of mirrors, just like My Lady’s.” Her head tilted slightly to the side. “But try as I might, I could not find him. This elusive Ghost as he seems to be now. So, where is he dear father?” She batted her eyelashes mockingly at that. </p><p>“I don’t know.” </p><p>“You will forgive me father, you have proven to be...somewhat unreliable.” With a chuckle full of dark intent the blade was brought back up to his neck. “So, I’ll ask you again. Where is the Living Corpse? Where is Erik?”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. From the musings of Christopher Price:</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Christopher Price is a con-man on the streets of Whitechapel London. He's had a lot of success taking money from poor unsuspecting victims, But, what happens when the man comes across a Ghost that knows all his tricks?</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I don’t know why I’ve decided to put my thoughts onto paper. I never was a man who saw value in looking to the past. Progress progress progress. That was always the motto in which I lived my life. Regardless of the reasons I suppose I should start with an introduction of sorts. My name shall be unknown to you. Despite the limited success that I have managed to amass, I know that I shall be forgotten to history. And perhaps that is best for everyone. </p><p>My name is Christopher Peter Price. I was born in Whitechapel in 1856. My mother God rest her soul was a prostitute. My father, one of her clients. Never knew him, never really wanted to. Growing up the son of a whore in Whitechapel meant that we were poor and that we were looked down upon even more-so if we were only poor. I wasn’t home much in my adolescence. I didn’t want to be reminded of my roots. As I said, I usually looked forward instead of behind. I was something of a street urchin in my younger years I admit. Picking pockets, petty theft, but what I really loved was the art of the con. I once saw a street musician and was so utterly fascinated. He was able to make things appear and disappear seemingly out of nowhere. I wanted that power. I craved it. I knew that if I learned magic that all my troubles would be solved. </p><p>When I talked to him he told me the truth. That there was no magic, that it was all making your audience think it was. I learned the art of sleight-of-hand from him in exchange for...services. As I said, I don’t look back. It doesn’t matter. The things you did back in the day, and even today in Whitechapel to survive. Everyone sells their soul or body eventually. Usually both. </p><p>I used what the bastard magician had taught me and I began to con the good people of Whitechapel out of their hard earned coin. I made a pretty penny eventually as well. Enough to be able to get away from my mother thank God. She didn’t hold it against me. She’d been trying to get away from herself since she started whoring. I would move all around London, never too long in the same place. I would make money from the rich, spend the money on booze and women, and then repeat the process. I admit I wasn’t the best businessman but I was learning. I watched the lawyers and the bankers as I conned them. I could do that, they were the greatest thieves of all after all. I knew that this was what my future would entail. I just had to be smarter with my money. </p><p>That would be the case if my...liking of women hadn’t gotten me into trouble. I was a handsome man who had most of my teeth. I was practically Adonis compared to the other men in Whitechapel. I was blonde, striking blue eyes, and fair features. The ladies loved me and oh how I loved them. One night with a lot of drinks I had wound up in bed with a pretty young creature. An amazing night really if I recall correctly. The morning however was quite the rude wakeup call. </p><p>The year was 1882 when my life would change forever. I had returned to my home of Whitechapel for a little bit. I knew that the money was sparse but there was a certain satisfaction I got from snagging the money from the lower class dregs in which I came from. This con wasn’t anything too great if I’m being honest. The typical ball and three cups. Shuffle them around and if they can find the ball then they would win. They wouldn’t of course. A small button under the table would slip the ball beneath whichever cup the ball would be under. When someone was wise enough to figure it out I’d take my earnings and make a break for it. Simple as that. That was until I met the Ghost. A Ghost that would go on to haunt my life for quite some time. </p><p>I was getting ready to pack away everything for the evening when suddenly I looked up and there was a cloaked figure before me. I had not heard his approach and I could not make out the features of the person that stood before me. The dark hooded fabric covered them so thoroughly that I could scarcely tell whether or not the person was man or woman. The only thing other than the solid silhouette was the most piercing eyes I had ever come across. Like two candlelit flames. They seemed to exist within the blackness of the person’s head. And then, they spoke. “Fancy a game?” They asked. And the voice that I heard was the most hauntingly melodic that had ever graced my ears. Hearing it I felt my mouth go dry and my eyes grow wide. I found myself somewhat entranced if I was being honest. Such a voice coming from such a figure it was like something out of a story. </p><p>“Oh course. Of course…” I managed to shake myself out of it long enough to start the con. “That’ll be 5 shilling.” I said to the man. </p><p>“I’ll raise it to 50 shillings.” The figure spoke again as it dropped a satchel of coin onto the table. “Double or nothing.” My mouth watered at the sight and sound of the jingling of the purse. </p><p>“What makes you think I can double it?” </p><p>“If you cannot, I can easily take back my coin.” A shrug of the figure’s shoulders were the only motion made, not even making for the coin. It was as if they could sense my greed. I took a deep breath and declined such an offer. </p><p>“No no good fellow. I can hold the bet. Shall we then?” I grinned, holding up the ball to show the figure. I explained the rules and then popped the ball under the cup. Quickly I switched all three about the table. Then, I silently hit the button on the right. “Your move.” </p><p>There was a long silence between us. What made it worse is that those burning eyes continued to stare, unblinking. Finally I broke the silence after awkwardly cleared my throat. “So? Which cup has the ball.” </p><p>“None.” Replied the voice. </p><p>“What do you mean none?”</p><p>“The ball is not underneath any of the cups.” Suddenly, a slender hand emerged from the shadows. No, not slender. To call it slender would be giving it too much credit. From the swift movements I had managed to see a skeletal hand emerge. Like yellowed parchment stretched over nothing but bone. It sent shivers down my spine, made even worse when before I knew it all three cups had been overturned and those damned firey eyes burned into my soul. “As you can clearly see, there is no ball on the table.” The figure did not sound angry. No more...amused than anything else. “Now, I shall make this even more interesting. Suddenly, that hand dropped two more satchels onto the table. “If you can tell me where the ball is, I shall triple your earnings. I raised a brow at this and the figure seemed to chuckle. </p><p>“Well..it is inside the table.” I said, regaining my composure once more. “A little device of mine.” I pointed to where the button was. </p><p>“So you conned me.” </p><p>“Don’t take it personally mate. I con everyone.” </p><p>“Reveal the ball then.” </p><p>“Pardon me?” </p><p>“I cannot take your word simply as it is. Reveal to me the ball and I shall give you your earnings.” I understood. Again,the figure didn’t seem angry. I quickly pressed the release and awaited for the ball to drop into my hand from beneath the table. However, it wasn’t there. I felt the blood run out of my face when the realization hit me. Then, I heard a sound. The sound of the little ball hitting against the table twice and then rolling the rest of the way. I looked up and the figure now stood closer. </p><p>“A valiant effort good sir. However, it is I who am the winner here. I shall take my coin now.” </p><p>“H~how!?” I demanded. </p><p>“Do you truly believe yourself to be the first to pull this particular stunt? Before the ball was even fully under the cup I snatched it away.” </p><p>“You lie.” </p><p>“If you think so, try so again. I want you to quickly cover the ball in your hands.” </p><p>“You’re playing with me?” </p><p>“I am indeed. Now, do it.” The way that he commanded me made me snap to obey him. That damned voice of his. I sat there, utterly uncomfortable. Both of my hands ready to clasp around the ball. And, when the word was given I quickly clapped them together around the ball. The shadowy figure didn’t even move. I chuckled, sure of my victory. But, again I felt the blood run out of my face when the ball was bounced back to me. A con, this had to be a con. I opened my hands up and to my horror it wasn’t there. “My coin Monsieur.” The same skeletal hand appeared from the shadows once more. An open palm, expecting his earnings. </p><p>I flipped the table over and I began to run down the alleyway.</p>
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